


Kill Me Soft and Slow

by whenshewrites



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Assassin Stiles Stilinski, BAMF Stiles, Bar Owner Derek Hale, Canon-Typical Violence, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale is Not a Failwolf, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hitman Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Stiles Stilinski is a Tease, The Hale Pack - Freeform, Warning: Gerard Argent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24448408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: Stiles knew the second someone crossed his wards.It was like a punch to the gut, giving him a split-second to look up as his apartment door burst open and three men shoved inside. Stiles was on his feet in a second, pizza box flipping to the floor and the TV blaring whatever the hell Lydia had been watching last night. He hadn’t even had a chance to go to his favorite show.Tomato sauce stained the carpet as the pizza hit face-first. Lydia was going to kill him.If the intruders didn’t first.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 39
Kudos: 217





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles knew the second someone crossed his wards.

It was like a punch to the gut, giving him a split-second to look up as his apartment door burst open and three men shoved inside. Stiles was on his feet in a second, pizza box flipping to the floor and the TV blaring whatever the hell Lydia had been watching last night. He hadn’t even had a chance to go to his favorite show.

Tomato sauce stained the carpet as the pizza hit face-first. Lydia was going to kill him— if the intruders didn’t first.

The closest man launched himself forward and Stiles pinwheeled backward, cursing. He ducked the man’s punch and caught his wrist, twisting it sideways. There was a crack and the man cried out, and Stiles shoved his head into the nearest wall, putting a hole straight through the paster. He winced.

Lydia was so going to kill him.

Stiles turned around as a pair of arms wrapped around his torso and drove him to the ground. His head bounced off the floor and Stiles cursed, wriggling to get free. He drove his knee up into his attacker’s gut and slammed his elbow into his back. The man yelped, grip loosening, and Stiles took that moment to flip him over, driving his fist into the man’s nose.

There was another crack. A splatter of blood added to the stained carpet.

Stiles shoved himself to his feet and stumbled back, nursing his hand. There was a creak behind him and he spun around toward the last man— only to freeze.

_Shit._

Stiles stared down the barrel of a gun, the man’s finger tight around the trigger. Alarm bells went off in Stiles’s head and he raised his hands, chuckling weakly.

“Alright now,” he said. “Let’s talk about this.”

But the man didn’t say a word. To Stiles’s surprise, he didn’t pull the trigger either. Instead, he lowered it an inch and stepped aside. Not two seconds later, another man came in through the open door; an older one with white hair and wearing a black suit. 

Stiles blinked.

The newcomer paused in the doorway and glanced around the room, eyes going over the two bodies and landing on where Stiles stood. He smiled, then, looking impressed, and Stiles lowered his hands.

“Are you here to kill me?”

“Of course not,” the older man said, moving into the apartment. He stepped beside the man with the gun and tapped his hand. Slowly, the man lowered his arm and tucked the gun away. “I’m here to make you an offer, Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles could’ve groaned. 

Of course, he should’ve known. He hated the clients that felt the need to make a show before asking for his services, instead of using email like a normal person. Or they could call. It wasn’t that hard to punch in a number instead of punching out his door.

“Right,” Stiles said, glaring at the man. “Right now, I’m pretty inclined to say no.”

“I haven’t even named my price yet.”

“Yeah, well, I’m going to tack on a hell of an extra fee for property damages,” Stiles said. “And someone is buying me another pizza. Do you know how long I had to wait for delivery? There’s not a decent place anywhere in town. I had to order from one city over.”

The older man looked faintly amused. He stepped forward and offered out a hand; Stiles just stared at it. Face tightening, the man lowered it again. “My name is Gerard Argent, Mr. Stilinski. I’ve heard a lot of good things regarding your particular… skillset.”

“Glad to hear I’ve amassed a reputation,” Stiles said. “But you know, you could’ve started with that instead. I have a door for a reason.”

“I wanted to see you in action before I made my offer.”

“Which you’re planning on making… now?”

“I’d like you to take someone out,” Gerard said. Stiles resisted the urge to snort.

He’d heard that statement in a lot of ways. Sometimes, it was like people were too embarrassed to ask and couldn’t actually say ‘I need you to kill someone’ out loud. Other times, like Gerard apparently, they came right out and said it. Stiles didn’t know which he found more amusing.

“I see,” Stiles said. “Care to go in-depth on that?”

Gerard pulled out a file from the folds of his suit and offered it forward. He was efficient, Stiles had to give him that. He wasn’t easily impressed, but this guy was straight up in character. Taking the file, Stiles flipped it open and raised an eyebrow. There wasn’t anything but a single paper. Usually, he got more information than that.

“Seriously?” he said. “That’s all?”

“Hale is an… elusive target.”

Stiles glanced back down at the file. He scanned the first paragraph and then looked back up. 

“A werewolf.”

“An Alpha werewolf.”

Stiles studied the old man. There was something about his name; Stiles could’ve sworn he’d heard it before. _Gerard Argent._ Argent. He scoffed and closed the file, handing it back over.

“You’re a hunter, Mr. Argent. Take him out yourself.”

But Gerard didn’t take the file. His face hardened and his eyes narrowed dangerously. The man behind him tightened his fingers around his gun again and Stiles tensed. “I was told you took jobs like this, Mr. Stilinski.”

“Sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t. I have the right to say no.”

“Check the file again first.”

Stiles scowled at him, but reopened it after a second. He scanned the rest of the minuscule information; three were three different charges of murder the target had been accused of; his childhood home burned down to the ground, killing everyone inside. His older sister ripped apart and left for the cops to find. And there were a handful of others that the police had marked as ‘animal attacks’ as if anyone believed that was true.

“This Derek Hale,” Stiles said. “He’s got a pack?”

“A small one.”

“And what about them?”

“Take out Hale,” Gerard said. “And my men will do the rest. A bunch of untrained omegas are nothing without their Alpha. It’s Hale that’s been causing us trouble.”

Stiles hummed, scanning the page to the very end. After a second, he flipped it closed and lifted his eyes back up. Gerard raised an eyebrow.

“Will you take the job, Mr. Stilinski?”

Stiles looked at him for a long moment. Hale wouldn’t be the first werewolf Stiles had taken out. He just usually didn’t take jobs from anti-werewolf activists, though. They tended to be fanatics. And fanatics could be dangerous.

But this was a job. A real job. And Stiles had taken out targets for less.

“Fine,” he said. “But there’s an additional fee for trashing my apartment. And you’re ordering me another pizza.”

Gerard’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, but he nodded. Stiles tossed the file onto the couch and sighed, glancing around the room.

“And get your man out of my wall. He’s terrible decoration. The colors clash.”

Gerard forced a chuckle. But Stiles wasn’t kidding.

* * *

“His name,” Stiles said, looking over the file for the third time. Like there was any information he’d somehow missed. “Is Derek Hale.”

“And he’s a werewolf.”

“So it would seem,” Stiles said, studying the only picture that had been provided. He couldn’t even make out the man’s face behind flashing eyes. Chewing on his lower lip, Stiles shook his head. “Nice.”

Sitting across from him, Lydia didn’t look so impressed. She reached over and picked up the file, ignoring his sounds of protest. Red lips pursed and she looked over the single page.

“Hm,” Lydia said after a second. “I don’t like it.”

“What? Why not?”

“First of all,” she said. “He’s a werewolf. You know, like your literal best friend. And second of all; Argent, Stiles. Seriously? How’d he even know how to contact you?”

“I’m not going to be biased because of names,” Stiles said. “Yeah, he’s anti-werewolf, but so are a lot of people. And this isn’t about Scott. If they asked me to kill him, I’d tell them to fuck off. But Derek Hale is completely different. Have you seen the things he’s charged with?”

Lydia glanced back down at the file again. Stiles sighed.

“Derek Hale is going to be a challenge, yes, but come on, Lyds. I’ve faced worse before. Remember the succubus from last year? Or the politician from three months ago? That guy was worse than any werewolf and he was human.” 

“Hm,” Lydia said again, flipping the file shut. She raised an eyebrow at him. “And how are you gonna do it?”

“He’s got a pack,” Stiles said. “A handful of betas and a creeptastic uncle. If I can get in with them, I can get in with Hale. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Lydia gave him an unconvinced look. Stiles grinned, gesturing to himself.

“Come on, Lyds, I’m a delight!”

“Sure you are.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I am. And I’ve already taken the job, so there’s no going back now. Unless I want to find a bullet in my head instead of his.”

Lydia shook her head and pushed herself up. “Fine, Stiles, if you’re sure. But you’re an idiot, you know. And don’t come crying to me when things go wrong and you’ve got the Hale pack on your heels.”

“Aw, you always have such strong faith in me, Lyds. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” Lydia said, pushing herself up. “Oh, and Stiles? There’s still blood on the floor. Next time, use bleach.”

Stiles winced. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Or just don’t get blood on the floor at all. That’s always an option.”

“It wasn’t my fault!”

“Hm. And also, I know there’s a hole in the wall behind the new picture frame and I want it fixed. You’re not that smooth, Stiles.”

Stiles sighed. He could never get anything past her, but that’s what he got for having Lydia Martin as a roommate. Stiles had known what he was getting himself into from the beginning. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good little hitman.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes clubbing and Derek isn't a friendly werewolf.

“Derek Hale owns a nightclub.”

Lydia looked up with disinterest from her phone, raising one delicately manicured brow. Stiles plopped down on the couch beside her, taking both of the red-head’s hands and squeezing. 

“Dude, Lydia, Derek Hale owns a  _ nightclub.” _

“Okay,” Lydia said, looking from Stiles, to her captive hands, and then back. “And I should be bothered by this, why?”

“Because that’s my in, Lyds!” Stiles said. “That’s a one-way ticket to actually meet the man face-to-face and then… you know. Eventually do all that other hitman stuff.”

“Hitman stuff.”

“You know what I mean.”

Lydia rolled her eyes and withdrew her hands from his with a sigh. “Sometimes, I wonder how you’ve survived this long, Stiles. Why does any of this concern me again?”

“Cause you’re my go-to girl,” Stiles said. “My queen, my moon and my stars. My lovely fair maiden who—”

“Stiles, get to the point.”

“I need you to come with me,” Stiles said. “Tonight.”

“I have better things to do.”

“Such as?”

“Not getting involved in your life or death scenarios again.”

“Oh, come on,” Stiles said, whining a little. He reached for her hand again but Lydia pulled back, and Stiles settled with resting his palms on her knees. Lydia gave him an unimpressed. “I need you. If something goes wrong, two heads are better than one, and if I bring a date, no one can suspect me!”

“Cute, and slightly smart. But still no.”

“Please, Lyds,” Stiles said. “I’ll never get blood on the carpet again. I’ll fix the hole in the wall tomorrow. I’ll watch the Notebook with you!”

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him, but eventually sighed. Stiles beamed as she pushed herself up, casting a critical eye over his t-shirt, flannel, and baggy jeans. “Fine, but you’re not dressing like that. I decide when we leave, when we come home, and we’re watching the Notebook every other night for the next week.”

“Sometimes, I really think you hate me.”

“Only sometimes,” she said with a smug smile. Stiles sighed and watched her flounce away, before looking down at himself too. He didn’t think his outfit was that bad. Besides, it was only a club. And he wasn’t going to dress to impress.

But Stiles knew better than to disagree with Lydia. He had before and it never ended well. Usually with Stiles at knifepoint. Or whatever sharp objects Lydia could get her hands on.

Sometimes, Stiles couldn’t believe  _ he  _ was the contract killer.

* * *

Stiles ran a hand through his hair and tried not to shift his feet too nervously. The line to the club— The Triskele— was longer than he’d expected. It was unfairly cold outside too, and Lydia had taken away his plaid and banned hoodies. So now he was the one shivering while she was wrapped in long sleeves.

“You know,” Stiles said, pushing up on his tippy toes and trying to see over the heads of the crowd. “I’m gonna be pretty pissed if we don’t get in.”

“We’ll get in,” Lydia said. Stiles huffed.

“I admire your confidence.”

“It’s not confidence,” Lydia said, smirking at him. “Nobody turns me down.”

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Many times.”

“Yes, well,” Stiles said. “I love you.”

“And you’re like the brother I never had.”

Stiles clutched at his chest, making a pained grunting noise that made Lydia roll her eyes. Stiles had gotten over his crush years ago, yes, but Lydia would forever hold it over his head. 

It wasn’t Stiles’s fault he’d taken one look at the woman nose-deep in a nuclear psychics book and fallen head over heels. Who wouldn’t?

The bouncer was a large, dark-skinned man, who looked down with narrowed eyes as they finally reached the front of the line. Stiles gulped, but Lydia stepped forward and tossed a curl over her shoulder, oozing nothing but confidence.

“Two admissions, please.”

The bouncer studied her and then glanced at Stiles. Stiles could’ve sworn his nose twitched, but it was also too dark out to be sure. Lydia twirled a lock of hair around her finger and waited, and the man grunted after a moment, stepping aside. 

Stiles smothered the urge to let out a sigh of relief and started by, but the bouncer abruptly caught his wrist. Startling, Stiles gave him a sharp look.

“Uh, is everything cool here, dude? Because that’s my hand you’re partially holding.”

“No funny business in there,” the guy said, squeezing hard enough to make Stiles’s bones creak. Stiles chuckled nervously and nodded, tripping after Lydia, who gave him an exasperated look.

“Seriously, how are you still alive?”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t ask myself that every day.”

She shook her head and gazed around the club, before patting Stiles one the shoulder and starting away. “I’m going to make someone buy me a drink. Don’t go anywhere and don’t do anything stupid. And for the love of god, don’t get yourself killed.”

“You’re leaving me?”

Lydia threw a smirk over her shoulder and batted her eyes. “Are you going to buy me a drink, Stiles?”

“I mean, if you wanted me to—”

“I don’t think so. I’ll come find you when I’m ready to go home!”

Stiles stared after her, mouth slightly agape. Then he shook his head and turned in the other direction, heading toward the bar. The room was more crowded than his hyperactive brain preferred and the flashing lights gave him a headache. Stiles slid onto one of the bar stools and wondered when he’d gotten so old.

“Dang, Batman,” a female voice said, and Stiles startled as a blonde-haired woman dropped down onto the stool beside him. “What’s with the face?”

“Batman?”

“All black,” she said, eyes sweeping him up and down. “You’re really killing it.”

“My friend likes to dress me when we go out,” Stiles said, his face turning hot. “According to her, sweatshirts are a no-go when clubbing night comes along.”

“Just a friend?” The woman said, eyeing him with interest. “She chose well.”

Stiles gaped for a second. Granted, he wasn’t a stranger to being hit on— he’d grown into his body of gangly limbs and spastic movements after high school— but he still hadn’t expected it. The woman’s smile was razor-sharp and when the light caught her eyes, Stiles could’ve sworn they flashed for a moment.

His breaths caught in his throat. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure  _ what _ he was sitting across from, and how lucky (or unlucky) would it be if Stiles had already stumbled across one of Hale’s betas?

“Stiles,” he said. “That, uh, me. Stiles Stilinski.”

“Erica Reyes.”

Stiles grinned and flagged down the bartender. Erica ordered a shot of whiskey, but Stiles only asked for a coke. The last thing he needed was to get drunk tonight and mess up the whole thing. The whole thing being… whatever Stiles made up as he went along.

“Not a drinker?” Erica said, leaning closer to him. Her fingertips brushed against Stiles’s own and her eyes glittered with challenge. The look should not have been as terrifyingly seductive as it was. “That’s no fun.”

“I like to keep a clear head,” Stiles said, shrugging. “The last time I went out clubbing and got drunk, I ended up two cities over in only my boxers and some stranger I’d never met before had filed a restraining order.”

“Now, that sounds like a good time.”

“Not when you’re the one nursing the hangover the next day.”

Erica smirked. Stiles was sure her eyes flashed again when the light caught them, turning gold for a second. When the bartender brought back their drinks and Erica had turned away, Stiles wet his lips and glanced at their touching fingers.

He narrowed his eyes and a spark of electricity suddenly danced between them. Erica yelped, yanking back, and Stiles’s heart stuttered. The woman gave him an incredulous look; one with flashing golden eyes.

“Oh shit,” Stiles said, heart in his throat. “Static electricity. What can you do?”

Erica’s eyes stayed on him, narrowed and suspicious. Stiles nervously reached for his drink, but didn’t even manage to get in a sip before someone literally  _ loomed  _ at Erica’s back. Stiles choked on a mouthful of soda and dropped the glass to the counter hard, spilling liquid everywhere.

He could barely make out the face of the man standing beside her, arms crossed and lips turned down in a frown. Erica glanced back and rolled her eyes at the guy with a sigh.

“Seriously? How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough. Is this guy bothering you?”

“Me, bothering?” Stiles interjected. The guy’s eyes snapped to him and Stiles raised his hands, putting on his smile. “No bothering going on here. In fact, we were just having a very enlightening conversation about… Batman.”

The guy’s eyes turned squinty and his eyebrows looked murderous. He stepped closer and Stiles’s breaths caught in his throat as he realized exactly how  _ gorgeously  _ sexy scary-brows was. And how unfair getting a fear boner would be. 

“Oh my god,” Erica said, knocking back her shot of whiskey and pushing herself up. “I was just trying to have a little fun, Derek, relax. Even if Stiles was bothering me, don’t you think I could handle it?”

Derek frowned and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the force of Erica’s words hit Stiles like a brick. He choked on his own breath.

“You’re  _ Derek?” _

Derek glared at him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Derek as in Derek Hale, Derek?”

There was a hint of a snarl on the Alpha’s lips now. Stiles blinked a few times and then realized he was being the opposite of discrete. But he hadn’t expected… this. Fuck, he didn’t know what he’d expected, but the one photo that Gerard had provided hadn’t shown anything really. And Derek Hale was much sexier in person.

_ Target,  _ Stiles reminded himself. Derek was a target.

“Yeah, I’m Derek Hale,” Derek said, taking a threatening step forward. “How do you know my name?”

“I was just… you own the club! I was interested in who owned the club,” Stiles said, rubbing the back of his neck and chuckling weakly. It wasn’t exactly a lie, so he was pretty sure his heart hadn’t skipped a beat. Derek didn’t look impressed, though.

“Who let you in here?”

“Uh… the big scary dude working as the bouncer.”

“Boyd’s on duty,” Erica said, glancing between them. Derek’s lips were pulled back in a snarl and she sighed. “I’m so not getting in the middle of this. Derek, play nice. He’s a customer.”

Stiles watched her leave nervously. He scanned the club, but couldn’t catch sight of Lydia. There were far too many people and Stiles couldn’t make out any red-haired goddesses among the flashing lights. Swallowing hard, he turned back toward Derek.

He did come here to ‘find his in’ after all.

“So,” Stiles said. He propped one elbow on the counter and promptly cursed when spilled coke seeped into his sleeve. Yanking back, he grabbed a handful of napkins and dabbed around aimlessly. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

Derek continued to stare at him. Stiles raised an eyebrow, grin slipping.

“You alright there, big guy? You look a little constipated.”

“You don’t smell right.”

Stiles blinked. His heart skipped a beat and he forced a chuckle, making a show of lifting his arms and giving himself a good sniff. He smelled… well, in all actuality, he smelled fine. Because Stiles had been a responsible adult and taken a shower today. 

But he knew what Derek meant. 

Supernaturals didn’t often pick up on Stiles’s spark scent. But he knew sometimes, they could. And this really wasn’t the time for that.

“I swear I put on deodorant,” Stiles said. “I mean, I also wore this shirt like three days ago and might’ve forgotten to wash it, but who doesn’t do that once in a while? And it’s the only shirt my friend deems respectable to wear out in public. For some reason, she says I dress like a child.”

Derek didn’t look amused. Nodding nervously, Stiles pushed himself up.

“Well, after this very enlightening conversation, I’m going to go find said friend. It was, uh… nice to meet you?”

Derek only glared. Stiles turned away with a wince and started into the crowd. He could feel Derek’s eyes burning into his back the entire way.

He found Lydia dancing with a guy who looked like he’d literally walked out of the ‘douchebag monthly’ magazine, tapping her on the shoulder a few times before catching her attention. The guy gave him a dark glare and Stiles smirked back. Lydia gave him an irritated look.

“What, Stiles?”

“We need to leave. Now.”

“Did you seriously already get yourself into trouble?”

“Less like I’ve already gotten into trouble and more like it’s coming,” Stiles said, catching her wrist and pulling her back through the crowd. Lydia didn’t protest, but didn’t look happy about things either.

Unwilling to run into the bouncer outside— who Stiles was pretty sure was a werewolf too— he ducked out a pair of doors to the side. They only got a few feet, though, before Lydia pulled away.

“I forgot my purse.”

“Forget the purse! I’ll… buy you a new one. Or something.”

“I’m not leaving my purse,” Lydia said, turning away. “I had to wait months for the shipment and they’re already sold out. Go order an uber and I’ll meet you in front of the club.”

Stiles clenched his jaw, but Lydia was already ducking back inside. Sighing, Stiles turned away and started down the abandoned alleyway.

He didn’t make it to the main road, though. Not before a calloused hand caught him around the neck and threw him against the alleyway wall. Stiles gasped in surprise and drove his knee up on instinct, hearing a sharp grunt as it met its target. He started to throw a punch, but his attack caught his fist mid-air, and Stiles got an eyeful of glowing red eyes.

His breaths caught in his throat. Derek pushed him back against the wall, face half-shifted and fangs bared. 

“You smell wrong,” he said, words a growl. “You smell like magic.”

“That’s because I’m a Spark,” Stiles said, glaring at him. Derek’s eyes narrowed and Stiles rolled his eyes, squirming in his grip. “I didn’t realize your club was open to humans only. Except it’s really not, is it? Judging by the fact it’s run by a bunch of werewolves.”

Derek snarled at that. Stiles, despite his better instincts, raised his hands in surrender. 

“Look, dude, I didn’t come here tonight to threaten your pack. I was just trying to have a good time.”

Derek was silent for a second and Stiles realized he was listening to his heartbeats. But he hadn’t been lying. Not really. After a second, Derek let go and took a step back. The red faded from his eyes and his face turned back to normal. 

“You’re leaving,” Derek said. “Now. And you’re not coming back.”

“That’s a little rude, don’t you think?”

The man growled again and Stiles threw his hands up once more. Stepping away, he eyed the werewolf one more time, before nodding.

“No coming back, got it. I uh, left the stove on anyway. It was wonderful to meet you, Mr. Hale!”

Derek bared his teeth, but Stiles only smirked. He tipped two fingers from his temple and turned away, starting toward the open road. By the time he was surrounded by people again and he glanced over his shoulder, Derek was gone.

Stiles sighed. Because that hadn’t gone like he’d hoped, but at least he knew who Hale was now.

It was a start, if nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot second, sorry guys! I'm trying to figure out where I want to take this, but I think I've got it figured out. Of course, the comments/support you guys leave makes my day. Stay safe out there!


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles would like to say that first of all, he’d never done as he was told. So when Derek told him to leave his nightclub and never come back, Stiles did the exact opposite.

When Stiles wandered into the club that night, he made it past the bouncer, a curly-haired kid, who was far too easy. But he didn’t make it to the bar this time, before he was caught by the neck and literally dragged into the furthest dark corner.

It wasn’t Derek this time, though. Stiles grinned as he recognized Erica, bright and friendly.

“Erica! So glad we could run into each other again!”

“You were told not to come back here.”

“Oh come on,” Stiles said, putting a whining note into his voice. “I just want to have a good time. It’s not like I’m acquainted with any other supernaturals in this damn city. Come on, I’m a catch! We were hitting it off last night!”

“You don’t understand,” Erica said, tightening her grip. “Derek doesn’t want you here. Now I’d suggest you leave before—”

“Erica?”

The girl drew back and Stiles realized it still wasn't Derek standing behind her, but the scary bouncer from yesterday. He still put on his best smile but the man didn’t look impressed. He moved forward and Stiles backed away until his back rammed against the wall.

“Okay, dude,” Stiles said nervously, raising his hands. “No need to get violent here.”

_ “You.” _

“Me?”

“You were told not to come back.”

“So I keep getting told,” Stiles said. The man got right in his personal space and Erica stepped forward, putting an arm on his shoulder with the softly whispered word  _ ‘Boyd’.  _ The man relaxed a little but still looked fairly murderous.

His eyes flashed gold. Stiles’s breaths stalled in his throat.

“Look,” Stiles said. “It's not like I’m a big deal or anything! I’m more than willing to buy a few drinks, dance for a little bit, and then wander right back out! Isn’t that the purpose of a club?”

“Derek doesn’t want you here.”

“Because I’m a spark.”

“Because he doesn’t  want you here.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose with a frown. They were definitely attracting a few gazes now and Stiles chewed on his lower lip. He could probably leave without any trouble but then how was he going to get back in again? If this Derek Hale wasn’t such a grump, Stiles sure as hell he would have finished his job already.

The clock was ticking. Usually, he was more efficient than this.

“Give me one night,” Stiles said. “If I cause any trouble or if I do anything wrong, I’ll leave and never come back again. You have my word.”

“The word of a spark.”

“Listen to my heartbeat won’t you, little wolf?”

Boyd’s eyes flashed, but he still tilted his head again. For a moment, the only sound was the thrumming of distant music and the vibrating of the floor and then Boyd looked at him again, a hint of distrust still bright in his eyes.

“One night. If you mess it up, you’re out.”

“I can do that!”

The man gave him one last look before turning around and stalking away. Stiles half expected Erica to follow but she only gave Stiles an amused look, dropping a hand to her hip. “You better watch out for Derek though, Batman. He won’t care about any deal one of his betas made with you.”

“Right now,” Stiles said. “That’s actually the plan.”

And it was. Stiles had planned to spend this entire night avoiding Derek if that was possible. There were a lot of ways he could see this working out and stumbling across Derek’s radar was not one of them.

So Stiles tried to pick out the most secluded corner. He bought a drink, didn’t touch it, and glanced around the club, eyes skimming over everyone that could possibly be a future threat. The douche that Lydia had danced with yesterday. The curly-haired boy who seemed to be off duty. Erica, who had moved back behind the bar. And Boyd was still out of sight.

Gerard was right about Derek’s pack; it wasn't a very big one. And yeah, they seemed a _little_ bit threatening, but not an actual threat. Just dark and broody. Like it was a demanded thing that they all appear looming and wear leather jackets or something.

But what did Stiles know? Maybe it was.

He swirled his drink and pursed his lips, musing. It should be easy enough. He might not even have to gain Derek’s trust if he could gain one of theirs— or multiple. If he could just get near Derek and then get him alone, then that would be taking care of all his problems in one go.

Suddenly, there was a low growl behind him. Stiles straightened, a shiver running down his spine, and then cursed himself for not sensing Derek’s approach earlier.

Slowly, he turned around on his stool, grinning. Derek looked downright murderous.

“Okay, dude, look—”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Uh, admiring the view?”

Derek’s eyes flashed red and he moved forward, catching Stiles by the collar of his shirt and dragging him off the stool. Stiles yelped, stumbling to keep his balance, and then cursed as he was pulled out of sight. Away from potential witnesses and out of the main club area, down a dark hall with not nearly enough lights.

Derek finally let go, shoving Stiles against the wall. It was all painfully familiar.

“Okay,” Stiles said, chuckling weakly. “Look, dude—”

“Don’t call me dude.”

“Uh, okay. Derek?’

His answer was blazing red eyes. Stiles sighed, rolling his eyes, and then caught Derek by the neck, reversing their positions and slamming him against the wall this time. Derek snarled, fangs dropping down, and Stiles lifted a finger, tsking.

“I’m not trying to pull anything, Sourwolf. I’m just here for a good time. Is that really such a bad thing?”

“I’m going to rip your throat. With my teeth.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, letting go. He backed away with his hands up and nodded at Derek pointedly. “Look, I’m not doing anything bad. One of your betas— Boyd— said I could stay.”

The red in Derek’s eyes flickered. Stiles took that as his signal to keep going.

“I’m guessing he’s important. A second, right? Look, Mr. Hale, I know a thing or two about how werewolf packs work. And I’m not here to turn your betas against you. But are you seriously going to kick this charming face out just because I’m a spark?”

Derek didn’t answer but Stiles could’ve sworn he flinched. Slowly, he lowered his hands, studying the man.

“You’ve had bad experiences with sparks in the past, haven't you?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Or maybe it's not just sparks in general,” Stiles said, reading his face. The air around Derek had turned sour. He smelled like grief and regret and that piqued Stiles’s interest like nothing else. “What, other magic users then? Like the druids?”

In a second, Stiles was the one against the wall again. He chuckled weakly as claws tipped against his skin, knowing well enough what those could do to him. Easily too. Derek could rip out his throat without blinking twice. 

“Look,” Stiles said softly. “I’m not your past and I don’t plan to be. Let me buy you a drink?”

The man almost looked surprised. His claws slowly sheathed and Stiles tried to shift; but then Derek's fingers were tightening around his throat again. “If I told you to leave again, would you come back?”

“Probably.”

“Why?’

“I’ve got a vested interest in this place.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed as he studied his face. But Stiles made a point to look the man up and down and he could’ve sworn Derek’s face turned a little red. All the way up to the tips of his ears. Slowly, the man let go and nodded, stepping back.

Stiles grinned. “So I can stay?”

“One wrong move—”

“And I get my throat ripped out, right.”

“With my teeth.”

Stiles didn’t think that threat was supposed to send a shiver down his spine but it did anyway. Because Stiles was just human, okay? And Derek— werewolf or not, killer or not, target or not— had the ability to do some things with his words.

And there were things other than using his words that Stiles wouldn’t mind letting Derek do to him.

He nearly blushed at his own thoughts, shaking his head and snapping back to reality to see Derek stalking away. Hurriedly, Stiles stumbled after him, which earned a small red-eyed look and growl.

“I let you stay. What else do you want?”

“I was hoping I could buy you that drink.”

Derek narrowed his eyes and Stiles tried not to fidget. And that wasn’t an act. For some reason, he really felt like a single hard stare from Derek was enough to make him nearly crawl out of his skin. In a terribly, terribly good way.

Then the man nodded once. And Stiles grinned.

“Great! Come on, dude!”

“I told you not to call me dude.”

“Derek?”

This time, the man didn’t protest. Stiles’s stomach flipped and when he turned away, leading Derek toward the bar where Erica was, he was smiling a little wider. Though, also with more of an edge this time.

Because Stiles had the hook and he had the line.

Now he just needed the sinker. 

* * *

Turns out, Stiles made a good sinker.

He hadn’t actually expected the night to go in that direction, but he’d like to say he was quite a catch. He was also pretty sure he annoyed the crap out of Derek and that could be a bit of a turn-on, couldn't it? Because by the time Erica had stopped giving them raised-eyebrow, slightly smug, slightly judgy looks, and Stiles had worked through three rum and cokes, he was feeling like having a few terrible ideas.

He was pretty sure that’s what it looked like from the outside, at least.

By the time Stiles was grinning like an idiot, making remarks that didn’t make any sense, and Erica had upgraded him to nothing but water, Stiles was pretty sure this night had taken a sharp turn for the better. He got up at one point, making an excuse for the bathroom, and then studied himself in the mirror, taking deep breaths.

Get Derek alone. That had been the plan from the beginning. He took a few deep breaths, splashed water over his face, and then found Derek waiting for him in the hallway. The man raised a brow and Stiles didn’t think it was fair that simple of an action could be so ridiculously hot.

Okay, maybe he’d had a little bit to drink. Whatever. It didn’t hit him nearly as hard as it would if he were human rather than a spark.

“So,” Stiles said, stepping toward the man. Derek raised his brow higher and Stiles’s heart fluttered. “We should take this out of here, right?”

“Like your apartment?”

Stiles frowned. “No, dude, I’ve got a roommate. That would just be awkward.”

“Awkward?”

Stiles blinked a few times at him. He was supposed to be the sinker here, right? “Uh, yeah, awkward. Dude, I don’t know how you feel about exhibitionism or whatever, but Lydia would kick my ass right out of the apart—”

“Stiles, I’m not sleeping with you.”

Stiles cut off, staring. Sinker. He apparently was not the sinker. In fact, right now, Derek was making him feel like his heart was the sinker. Stiles didn’t know why the hell that felt like a blow to the throat, but it did. Except then the man’s face softened.

“You’re drunk.”

“I'm not that drunk.”

“I’m calling a taxi and you’re going home.”

Stiles frowned, placing both hands on the wall to the sides of the man’s face, effectively pinning him in. Derek crossed his arms over his chest, keeping a solid few inches between them, and Stiles sighed. “Most people would take advantage of a person like me being this drunk.”

He could’ve sworn Derek flinched. “I’m not most people.”

“You could be—”

“Stiles, we’re calling you a cab.”

Internally, Stiles cursed. Maybe he should’ve downplayed his role as the club drunk. But usually, his targets were quick to accept and then even easier to take out. Stiles could spare blinking when he shot a man point-blank for dragging him to their room when he was effectively ‘out of it’. 

Derek wasn’t giving in, though. Slowly, Stiles forced himself to nod and the man’s face softened a little as he took Stiles’s arm and led him toward the doors.

The nighttime air was cool on Stiles’s face.

“Can you give me an address?”

“That’s private,” Stiles said sharply. Derek raised a brow, but Stiles ignored him. Because now, he was a little pissed off.

“Can you get home safe then?”

“I’m fine, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, and he actually meant it. Even though he hated himself a little for that. He’d be fine, Derek would be fine, everything would be fine.

Except for Stiles if he messed this up, that is. But clearly Derek was not like most targets.  Derek was not most targets.

Stiles hated him a little for that.


	4. Chapter 4

Someone crossed his wards in the middle of the night.

Stiles was out of bed in a second, sparks dancing over his fingertips as he tilted his head, listening to the silence. For a moment, nothing moved. The night was quiet and still. But then it was like someone had wrapped a rope around his gut and _tugged,_ and Stiles found himself creeping out of his bedroom, eyes sweeping over the empty apartment.

It wasn’t Lydia. Lydia had permission to cross the wards whenever she wanted and Stiles knew for a fact that she’d turned in early last night. He peered at the digital clock across the room that read two in the morning and realized that whoever had crossed his wards was not an invited visitor.

Which meant they were probably going to bring trouble.

He ground his teeth together and watched the door, waiting. The moment it was kicked open, Stiles moved, catching the intruder by the neck and slamming him against the nearest wall. The guy spluttered and threw up his hands and Stiles narrowed his eyes, hands seconds away from turning red hot.

“Give me your name and your business in two sentences or I’m frying you halfway to hell.”

“Matt,” the man cried, smart enough at least to not attempt trying to escape. “I come with a message from Gerard!”

Stiles looked at him for a long moment. Then Lydia’s door across the room opened up and Stiles let go, stepping back with a glance over his shoulder. “It’s just a customer, Lyds.”

“At two in the morning?”

“He was just about to leave,” Stiles said, turning a dangerous look toward Matt. “Right, Matty boy?”

Silently, Matt nodded. Stiles heard Lydia sigh. “Fine. But if you get more blood on my carpet, I’m putting out an ad for a new roommate.”

Matt’s eyes rounded. Stiles smirked at him and waved a hand over his shoulder. “Yes ma’am.”

Lydia’s door closed again. Stiles crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.

“So what the hell does Gerard want now?”

“He wants to know what’s taking so long with the target.”

“It’s been three days.”

“Your reputation implied that you could get the job done a lot quicker than that.”

“Yeah, well, Hale’s a difficult one.”

Matt raised his chin, a defiant expression flitting across his face, and Stiles could have laughed. He’d be cowed by this little henchman when pigs started to fall from the sky. 

“Tell him I need two weeks.”

“You have one.”

“Two and if you try to bargain with me again, the red-head who just went back to sleep will be looking for a new roommate tomorrow.”

Matt’s eyes rounded and Stiles smirked. After a moment, the man nodded and then turned, starting back out of the room. But Stiles whistled and he hesitated, glancing back. Once more, sparks danced over Stiles’s fingers.

“Tell Gerard the next time he wants to send a message, he comes himself.”

“You don’t get to make that kind of—”

“Goodbye, Matt.”

The man looked a little pissed off, but he still turned back away. Stiles waited until he was sure the man was gone before stepping forward and closing the door, flipping the lock with a sigh. Despite everything, Matt was right. Usually, he would’ve finished the job by now.

And Stiles… Stiles shouldn’t need two weeks. He should’ve said one. Or maybe three days more. He didn’t need that long. He knew he didn’t. But he also couldn’t explain what had come over him. What had taken his words and twisted them.

But he didn’t like it.

Stiles clenched his jaw and turned around, heading back toward his bedroom. He'd pay the club a visit again tomorrow. In the daylight this time; and he’d get Derek alone. He’d get the man isolated from his pack again— it hadn’t been that hard last night— and then he’d finish this job.

He’d finish this job and then never think about it again.

Derek was just a target after all.

-

Stiles stood in front of the club the next night, the door padlocked shut. 

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his chin upward, searching the windows above the club. There was another part of this building, that was for sure. Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if Derek and his pack lived right above it all. That'd be the smart option at least.

Chewing on his lower lip thoughtfully, he moved around the side of the building. Into the alleyway from the very first night that contained not-so-fond (right?) memories of Derek’s fingers locked around his neck. Stiles smirked to himself and tried the doors on the side of the building, only to find those locked too.

Sighing, he set to work on picking the locks.

Less than five minutes later, Stiles was wandering back into the club. It seemed much larger without so many people and the silence was almost nice. Calming. He moved over to the bar, reached across the counter, and picked up the first bottle he saw. Them, with a sigh, he dropped onto the stool and worked on popping it open.

Someone cleared their throat behind him.

Stiles turned around with a grin, bottle already half uncorked, but then the expression faltered. The man standing a few feet away wasn’t any of the betas that Stiles had met yet— not even one he’d seen in passing. Stiles raised a brow at the guy, who stood with his pressed behind his back, and then lifted the bottle to his lips.

The guy stepped closer. Stiles’s fingers around the neck of the bottle tightened.

He lowered it with a grimace. “Who are you?”

“Funny question. Not asked by the right person in this conversation though, I think.”

“Maybe not,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “But I asked it first. So do you want to give me a name or should I just start guessing? You look like a Ryan.”

The man moved closer, inhaling deep, and Stiles stiffened as blue eyes flared. The guy smirked a little, tilting his head as he searched Stiles up and down.

“You’re a Spark.”

“And you’re a little blue-eyed wolf.”

This time, it was the man’s turn to stiffen. Stiles raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the ugly coiling in his stomach. He remembered Gerard’s file listing more than one Hale and from the stories he’d heard, Stiles was pretty sure who knew exactly who stood across from him right now.

“You’re Peter Hale. Derek's uncle."

“And you’re well-versed.”

“I just know my facts,” Stiles said, studying him. “Where’s Derek?”

Peter raised a brow and Stiles refused to let his face grow warm. He kept his expression flat, neutral. Peter chuckled. “Not here right now.”

“No shit.”

“You do realize breaking and entering is illegal, right?”

“Breaking and entering?’ Stiles asked, feigning an innocent expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The door was wide open.”

He knew the man could hear him lying, taking pleasure in the way that Peter’s eyes sparked. The man opened his mouth again but before he could say a word, there was the sound of a door opening and closing, the bang echoing across the room. Peter stiffened and Stiles glanced beyond him as Derek came into view.

The man stiffened the moment he saw them. Then his expression turned murderous and he stalked across the room.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, glancing between himself and Peter. “Which one of us?”

“You, Spark.”

“I came to get a drink,” Stiles said, waving his bottle through the air. Derek promptly ripped it out of his grip with a scowl and Stiles frowned. “Peter let me in.”

“I did not—”

“I can hear you lying, Stiles.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, threading his fingers together and leaning back on his stool. “Maybe I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“Why are you here?”

“I came to ask you something.”

Derek raised a brow and Stiles tried to ignore Peter’s bemused expression. He reached blindly over the counter for another bottle but his only result was a small crash and Stiles winced, drawing his hand back as Derek’s expression turned even more murderous.

“Wanna go get a drink?”

The man’s other brow raised. Peter muttered something unintelligible underneath his breath, turning away, and Stiles couldn’t help but feel a little relieved at that. The man made him feel unsettled.

Derek didn’t look impressed. “You’re paying for whatever you just broke.”

“But that doesn’t count as the drink, right?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Stiles’s heart stuttered and he blinked. “Seriously, dude? Is it because I forgot to do my laundry again? Is it the smell? Or is it because I just broke one of your fancy bottles? That was an accident, I swear.”

“It’s because I have a club to run.”

“Dude,” Stiles said, throwing up his hands. Derek winced. “It’s the middle of the day! I came by at this time for a reason.”

“You broke in. Illegally”

“Semantics.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, looking pained. “I can't just leave.”

“It’s just lunch.”

“I thought you wanted to get a drink.”

“In the middle of the day?” Stiles raised an eyebrow with a grin. “Dude, I don’t condone day drinking. It's not good for your health.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Stiles just grinned, waiting quietly. Derek looked at him, then the bottle in his hands, before placing it back over the counter with a grunt. Stiles didn’t know what the hell that was supposed to mean until Derek arched a brow of his own.

“You’re still paying for the drinks.”

“And lunch? Dude. Harsh.”

Derek shrugged, but Stiles could’ve sworn there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He told himself that he didn’t care about that; it didn’t do anything to him. It might’ve been a lie but he’d always been good at lying to himself.

“Fine,” Stiles said, pushing himself up. “I’ll pay this time.”

“This time.”

“I have charm, dude. Am I not allowed to make assumptions?”

The man rolled his eyes and Stiles considered that a win. And as Derek started toward the main doors, fishing a key out of his pocket, he tried not to let himself think about the blade hidden up his sleeve. The garrote wire in his pocket. Or the wolfsbane they’d both been laced with earlier.

He tried not to think about any of that.

It was harder than Stiles would ever admit out loud.


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re a dirty liar.”

Derek raised an eyebrow as Stiles laughed, his burger finally eaten and his plate cleared free of fries. The man didn’t look at all impressed, but Stiles could've sworn there were traces of a smile tugging at the edges of his lips. “I am not.”

“You do not get full furry. That's does not happen. I literally know zero werewolves who get all furry.”

“You’ve never met a full-shift werewolf before?”

“I mean, I’ve heard the stories of them,” Stiles said, because he had. He’d studied so many different volumes of bestiaries, he could name probably any and every supernatural being claimed to exist. But some of them were just legends. Some of them were extinct. And full-shift werewolves, well. Stiles knew most of those were extinct too.

“It was in my mother’s blood,” Derek said softly, glancing back down at his plate. The man's smile slipped. “I was the only one of my siblings to inherit it other than my older sister. But she’s… not around anymore.”

The silence reigned for a moment and Stiles swallowed hard. He remembered that from the files. He also remembered that they said Derek had nearly been convicted of killing her. After a moment, the man shook his head and raised his eyes again.

“I don’t usually talk about myself.”

“I told you,” Stiles said, reaching across the table and snagging one of his fries. “I’m a catch.”

This time, he did win a bit of a smile. It took a moment for Stiles to realize he was grinning right back and another moment for him to wipe that expression away. Something formed in his stomach. Some sort of unsettled feeling.

He dropped a few bills onto the table and pushed himself, grinning as Derek raised an eyebrow. "bathroom."

Stiles ducked away before Derek could answer. And then, before he could lose his nerve, he dialed Lydia’s number and shoved the phone to his ear, chewing on his thumb as he shoved into the bathroom and paced back and forth. There was a man who entered a couple seconds before Lydia answered the phone and Stiles gave him a murderous glare threatening enough to send the man turning right back out.

Lydia picked up after five rings. Stiles nearly melted to the floor in relief.

“Lyds, thank god.”

“Stiles, you know I’m busy. Is there something wrong?”

“I, uh, need help.”

He could hear the woman sighing through the phone and Stiles could practically see her twisting strawberry blonde curls around her finger, red lips pursed in front of an open computer screen. “Stiles, I told you last time. This is your job, not mine.”

“No, I don’t need you to come anywhere,” Stiles said, lowering his hand. “Right now, at least. I, uh, need you to talk me through this.”

“A panic attack?”

“Not exactly.”

“Stiles, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“It’s Derek.”

Lydia went silent for a long moment and Stiles internally cringed. And then when her voice came back through, there was no exasperation in it at all. “Stiles, what is all of this about? Something's wrong with the target on Derek?’

“I’m not… sure.”

“You haven’t forgotten he’s a target.”

“Of course not.”

“And you haven’t slept with him.”

“Lydia!”

“I’m just getting all of my options out of the way. You know better than to get emotionally attached to the target. Remember the last time you nearly gave up a job and it almost got your father killed?”

Stiles winced. He’d never forget the wendigo hybrid that he’d been sent to take out when he’d first started selling his skill-set for a price. He hadn't developed feelings exactly, but he’d felt bad. He’d felt the faintest twinge of sympathy. And then the wendigo had nearly killed his dad.

What would Derek do if he found out? Kill Stiles, definitely. But would he hurt his dad? Lydia?

Gerard would. Stiles knew that for sure. If he messed this up or developed any sort of… feelings that became a compromise, Gerard would hire the next best hitman and send them after Stiles and everyone he cared for. Stiles didn’t have to know much about the old Argent to know that for sure.

Stiles swallowed hard and nodded before remembering Lydia couldn’t see him.

“Right. You’re right.”

“I know I’m right. But are you going to listen to me?”

Stiles ran a hand through his hair. He was, of course, he was. But… they were out in public right now, weren't’ they? He couldn’t do anything out in public. Anyway, it wasn’t like Stiles was rushing through this. He’d ordered two weeks to take Derek out. And if he waited, if he took his time, he could make sure he did this properly. With no mistakes.

“Stiles?”

“Of course, I’m listening. When have I ever not listened?”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“Excuse you, but I am very reassuring. I basically said I was totally listening. It’s fine, we’re fine, everything is fine. I’ll finish the job.”

“Stiles,” Lydia said, her voice soft. And Stiles hated it a little bit, swallowing hard. “You can always step back.”

“We both know I can’t do that.”

“Gerard doesn’t own your hands. He doesn’t get to make them bloody.”

“No,” Stiles said, glancing toward the door. Derek was going to start wondering where the hell he had gone. “But right now, he owns my neck. And I took the job, I’m going through with it. Everything is fine.”

“Just be careful.”

“You know me,” Stiles said, chuckling weakly. “I'm always careful.”

He heard Lydia’s sigh before he hung up the phone, rubbing a hand over his face one more time. Then he shoved his phone in his pocket, stumbled back out of the bathroom, and was relieved to see Derek was still waiting in the booth for him. The man looked a little relieved too and Stiles hated the twisting of his stomach at that.

“I didn’t climb through a window to ditch out or anything,” Stiles said, grinning a little. “Just in case you were worried.”

The man just rolled his eyes. “You already paid. Why would I care?”

“Glad to see I’m just here to buy you lunch.”

“Next time, I’ll pay.”

Stiles blinked at him and Derek turned red all the way to the tips of his ears. The man ducked his head, fingers playing with the end of his straw.

“You don’t have charm.”

“Uh-huh. I totally charmed the pants right off you.”

“Not yet.”

Stiles didn’t know how to feel about the lump that formed in his throat. He’d completed his job plenty of ways in the past; a shot through an open window, offered one sip of a poisoned drink, taken a man out in a dark alleyway when no one else was around. Stiles had done it plenty of ways.

And Derek Hale was just a target. Stiles had plenty of ways at his disposal for how the could go down.

His skin was still crawling by the time they had left the diner. 

“Do you…” Derek looked nervous for a moment. “Do you want to come back to the club?”

“Mr. Hale, I’d hate to distract you from your owner duties.”

“Stop being an idiot.”

“But that’s my specialty! My _charm."_

Derek gave him a flat look and Stiles ran a hand through his hair, shrugging. There had no one else around the club other than Derek’s uncle when he’d been there earlier; it would be easy enough to take two wolves out. But Stiles just swallowed hard, forcing a smile.

“I have nothing going on tonight and my lovely red-head of a roommate was totally giving your douche beta the eyes the other day. If your terrifying bulk of a bouncer will let us in, that is, I'd be glad to come back around.”

“Boyd?”

“Yeah, dude. He’s like two of me.”

Derek looked at him for a long moment before nodding. “Okay.”

“You’ll tell him not to break me in half?”

“If I can be the one buying the drinks tonight.”

Stiles chuckled and he hated how forced it felt. Still, an easy smile played across his lips as he just shrugged. “Maybe I’ll have to skip getting overly buzzed tonight.”

“Maybe you will.”

For a moment, Derek’s eyes flicked down to his lips. Stiles’s breaths stalled in his throat and for a split second, he thought Derek was moved forward. Making up his mind fast, Stiles chuckled again, turning his head away so fast, he nearly gave himself whiplash. He looked at the ground for a long moment before glancing up through his lashes.

Derek was giving him a strange look now. Stiles swallowed hard. “I'll be back tonight.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There was a pit in his stomach as the man smiled.

-

“I’m not a terrible person,” Stiles said, feeling like more and more like a terrible person as the hours ticked on. Lydia sat on the couch, watching him pace with an unimpressed expression, and Stiles resisted the urge to brain himself on the nearest wall. “I’m not.”

“You have Hale’s file. Look over it again if you’re having second thoughts.”

“He killed his sister,” Stiles said, running a hand through his hair. “Suspiciously vanished off the map when his family’s house was burned down. Was nearly convicted for a dozen murders of completely random people in the past few years.”

“Or maybe you don’t need to look over the file again at all.”

“He’s not supposed to be a good person,” Stiles said, hating how pleading he sounded. “Goddammit, he’s not a good person.”

“So go finish the job.”

“But dammit, Lydia, bunny teeth.”

“Bunny teeth?”

“Bunny teeth!”

“You’re not risking this entire thing for his looks,” Lydia said, searching his face. And she’d always known him way too well for it to be fair. “Are you?”

“Maybe I’m missing something. Gerard is anti-werewolf, I could be looking at a list of entirely biased crimes for all I know.”

“Then talk to him.”

“Talk to him? Gerard? Or Derek? The supposed murder? Oh right, because that won’t be suspicious at all.”

“Stiles,” Lydia said, sighing as she pushed herself up. “You know better than to get attached. Remember that list you made for Donovan when you first met him? Or Theo? You said he couldn’t have killed his sister, remember? That it couldn't be possible for someone with a smile like that.”

Stiles clenched his jaw, sinking onto the couch beside her and burying his face in his hands. A gentle hand rested on his knee.

“You haven’t messed up a job before. Don't do it now. ”

“I nearly have dozens of times.”

“But you haven’t.”

“I’m not sleeping with him to get to him,” Stiles said, clenching his jaw. “It’s not going to get… personal. I don’t do that. Even to get to the target.”

“I know.”

“And this isn’t because he’s unfairly hot.”

“I know.”

“I can do this without it getting personal, Lyds.”

“Stiles,” Lydia said, gentle fingers tipping his chin upward. Stiles unclenched his jaw automatically at the soft look in her eyes. Lydia pressed her lips together and searched his face. “I know.”

“You’ll come with me tonight?”

She sighed, looking at him for a long moment before nodding. Stiles forced a grin and pressed a soft kiss against her forehead, which had the girl rolling her eyes as he pulled away. Stiles shoved himself up, stumbling to his room, determined to hold onto her words.  _ I know. _

This wasn't emotional attachment. Stiles was a professional.

For the third night that week, he repeated that to himself over and over again and tried not to think about what the next few hours might bring.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this: [tumbr post](https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/post/619483983099707392/hoechloin-when-hitman-stiles-stilinski-is-hired) and I just couldn't help myself. I hope you all enjoyed and as always, the comments and support you guys leave makes my day! Stay safe <3


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